


A String Drawn Tight

by draculard



Category: Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: F/F, Genderbending, Oral Sex, fem!Robin Hood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Robin remembers the first bow she ever made.





	A String Drawn Tight

There’s always been something attractive about the color green. When the first spring rain came, Marian could always be found outside under the drizzle, waiting for tufts of bright, green grass to poke through the dead brown husk of winter. When she dreamt of green, she dreamt of the forests - of walking beneath the trunks of fallen, rotting trees, each of them ripe with mushrooms, with sunlight and new summer leaves glimpsed through the holes in the bark.

But that wasn’t all, of course.

She also dreamt of Robin’s eyes.

* * *

There’s always been something attractive about the color red. Robin remembers the first bow she ever made, with the unsteady, inexperienced hands of a child. It was too flimsy; it was warped and thin. When she shot an arrow, the string bent and twisted and left pink welts on her fingers and forearms.

Later, she made herself a leather arm-guard, but that very day, her bow snapped as she fired it, and a thick splinter of wood drove its way into the flesh between her thumb and her forefinger. She held it up to the sun and could see the splinter inside her skin, casting a shadow in the light. Blood trickled from the wound, thick and vivid red.

It was the color of pain, the color of a bitten lip, of lips swollen from kissing. The color of Marian’s cheeks, flushed from the winter wind. 

It was the color of Robin’s own hair, and it was the color she saw when she put her callused hands on Marian’s porcelain-white thighs and forced them apart - the wet, raw, tender color between Marian’s legs, waiting to be teased and licked and kissed, waiting to be entered. 

Robin bends her head like a knight before a queen and dips her tongue into Marian’s entrance, savors the taste of arousal, a flavor that reminds her simultaneously of the summer wind, of strawberries, of her bare feet pounding across the forest floor, of Marian’s hand on her bare chest, of the thrumming of a bowstring as her arrow flies true.

Marian gasps and moans; her dress is torn, her skin warmed by the sun and flushed from Robin’s careful ministrations. Her nipples are pink and pert, her waist small enough that Robin can circle it with her tan, long-fingered hands. She presses her hips against Marian’s, feels the heat from Marian’s skin seeping through her clothes.

“Do you love me?” Robin whispers.

* * *

Ahead, Marian sees nothing but the trunks of trees - a canopy of leaves - a clear, blue sky. Her chest heaves; it seems as though her nerve endings are on fire, her entire body tense and waiting for release. A string drawn tight.

She hears nothing but her own heartbeat, a deafening rush in her ears. And then there are hands on her waist and a slim, muscular body pressed tight against hers.

The sky, the trees, the summer leaves - all are blotted out by Robin’s red hair, by her sparkling green eyes, by her flushed cheeks and crooked smile. Her lips move and Marian watches them, so filled with a rush of warmth and affection that she barely hears the words.

She pulls Robin closer and captures those lips with her own.

“Of course I do,” she says. 


End file.
